


13 Hours of Drunk

by TekSonay



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Drunk Jareth (Labyrinth), Explanations, Gen, Humor, Parody, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TekSonay/pseuds/TekSonay
Summary: In his keenest moments of denial, Jareth could convince himself that the whole Sarah Running the Labyrinth Ordeal had been merely a fantastic delirium... Too bad he couldn't toss his memories into the Bog.
Kudos: 9





	13 Hours of Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> When I watched Labyrinth, something about Jareth scrabbling to get through the window bothered me... 
> 
> (originally posted back in October '16 on Fanfiction.net)

In his keenest moments of denial, Jareth could convince himself that the whole Sarah Running the Labyrinth Ordeal had been merely a fantastic delirium.

Honestly he, the King of the Goblins, boogieing with a baby in the middle of his throne room?

But the phantom sensation of the babe in his arms haunted longer than the remnants of any natural dream. A shudder would sometimes skim his neck at the sound of a goblin botching familiar ambiguous lyrics, resulting in said goblin's instant transport to an oubliette and he himself wondering what the _hell_ had he been drinking? (It was now explicitly forbidden to speak the words "magic" and "dance" in the same sentence.)

Besides, he could never be so cruel as to send a fifteen-year-old girl through his labyrinthine death trap.

But nights like this - when a certain _very good wine_ simmered pleasantly in his blood, as he was stumbling about his Escher Tower after leaving a particularly rambunctious goblin dance party - Jareth was more disposed to admit that he, in reality, had done those things.

He winced.

Because seven years ago, during Sarah's Thirteen Hour Ordeal, the King of the Goblins had been completely and utterly drunk.

* * *

It was Sarah's fault.

Though it seemed ignoble to blame the girl, if she hadn't made such a beguiling spectacle while practicing her little play that evening, then he never would have been caught in the Aboveground rain.

Soaked and bad-tempered, he had flown his shivering owl self back to the Underground, wrapped himself in his most dramatic cape, and guzzled down the spiciest wine he could conjure. It was vitally important to point out this hadn't been just any wine; this had been the _very good wine_ , and it had also been very strong. He was downing his fourth cup when Sarah spoke her right words.

There were rules about these situations. Decades of refinement on proper first impressions and so forth.

One summons?

All gone to pot.

A dark blot in his memory was that first hour, with occasional flashes of Sarah's terrified face… something about a snake...

Oh, yes, that blasted window. Damned thing wouldn't open.

By some habit of rhetoric, he must have said his own right words, because he did remember standing on the hill overlooking the labyrinth, thus beginning the Thirteen Hour Musical of him prancing about in jodhpurs. (Life as a single male amongst goblins didn't exactly keep him practicing the decency normally afforded to modest, young females. Nor apparently the delicacy of handling mortal children, although that adorable peppermint stick called Toby took to being tossed quite well. That boy had shown more promise of intelligence than any full-grown goblin. Maybe he should've scrapped the lot of them and raised Toby instead).

In any case, at this point his mind tended to skip ahead, as the flashes of memory became unfortunately clearer. Jareth didn't care to admit that he had sent Cleaners after Sarah, the loveliest creature to grace his kingdom in decades, after a particular cheeky comment on her part. Not to mention he had also tried sending said loveliest creature directly into the Bog of Eternal Stench. How that ballroom dance would have played out had he been successful!

Because no, admitting to those actions would be akin to admitting to jealousy of a certain dwarf.

Ha. It was laughable!

It was the wine.

However he had learned a fascinating trick: intoxication was apparently the secret to reordering time! Or flashily rotating clock arms. He still hadn't figured out which it was...

* * *

Musing, Jareth ceased his roaming of the Escher Tower Stairs to sink to the cold stone. His fingers automatically materialized a spinning crystal.

And ah... who could forget The Party.

That delightful conjuring where his heart once sniveled, no matter how often - with stoic frequency - he subjected himself to Ludo's abysmal rock-summoning music, it endlessly haunted him. In truth, he had been a goner even before Sarah had bitten the peach, because the little alcohol left in his blood had already begun crooning the glum strains of the Lonely Song.

Lingering in precious Sarah's dream world wouldn't have been unfavorable. Her looking stunningly "adult" in her gown. Her staring at him like he was the epitome of mystique. You'd be surprised at how swiftly time can pass you by in one those magic crystals. If they had danced long enough, perhaps now he wouldn't be feeling so depraved for attempting to serenade a teenager.

Now it mattered not. His little party-crasher had smashed her own dream world into dazzling shards of rejection. All of his hard work! A shocking disappointment. He thought he might have shed a crystal.

The veneer of glitz and mischief had cracked. The effects of the alcohol had rapidly faded from his system. And suddenly, he had been faced with the ugly reality that Sarah was winning.

This crisis fell directly under a code ten violation of Things Which Must NEVER HAPPEN.

Fortunately, like all properly formidable villains, he had plunged into the last and final hour with a beastly hangover.

He supposed he had to give himself _some_ grace for the way things deteriorated from then on; it was difficult to troubleshoot one of the most pride-devastating scenarios to come to you and your kingdom when your head felt like it was stuffed full of belligerent fairies. The disorganized goblin army had been a desperate attempt to slow her down. She never should have gotten that far. Maybe if it hadn't been for her bosom companions, she wouldn't have. But he had been a sentimental, drunken idiot who, in the middle of crooning had wondered why the precious thing should have to be lonely, too.

In the end, he was at her mercy.

The Escher Tower stand-off had metamorphosed into a tragic blunder. He had quickly given up on the whole dramatic chasing ploy in favor of a leaning pitifully on a wall (vertigo made hangovers living purgatory)...

…watching Sarah scurry after Toby...

...watching Toby make him rescind his intelligence compliment...

…and counting down the minutes until this fiasco ceased and he could collapse on a bed in a very dark, quiet room.

Then, at last, they had stood before one another. Obviously, throwing around those crystals willy-nilly had backfired. Shiny baubles had rapidly lost Sarah's interest in the cresting moments of victory. He had lost all power over her.

Tra. La. La.

To this day, he was still mortified by his last ditch efforts to keep her there. Promises of fear and love and eternal slavery had glided shamelessly off his lips. He had once heard such words were pleasing to the ears of all females. Well, he had heard wrong. Apparently, they only appealed to older, lonesome women who thrived on dime novels. "Quite literally" was the way to describe how his world next fell apart. The final hour had ended with the babe and the girl sent straight back to the Aboveground.

He himself had tumbled down in a swathe of gauzy linens. For one euphoric moment, he imagined his bed was going to appear beneath him. Instead, to his capping disappointment, he had appeared back in the Aboveground as an exhausted, lonely, dry, garden-variety owl.

Sarah, cheeky thing, had immediately hosted some sort of underage goblin party, and for a while he had simply watched. He had briefly considering crashing the celebration just to spite her, but then decided there was no way he was subjecting himself to that kind of noise with this headache.

And despite nothing going right during those thirteen hours, at the end of the night, his bed had remained his ever stolid, non-judgmental sleeping companion.

* * *

Seven years had passed since he had touched that very good wine.

Until tonight.

Stretched out across the dusky stones in his Stair Tower, Jareth stared down at the swaying, glittering sky.

He had overcome his fear. He would enjoy this drink and the memories it stirred, and nothing would interfere with the perfection that was this quiet, bachelor night.

...

Then a faraway voice cried,

_"I wish the goblins would take me away right now!"_

He froze.

He sputtered.

And he cursed that voice's oh-so-arrogant familiarity.

"You can't do this, Sarah Williams!" he yelled, cracked and slurring. "No re-runs!"

_-fin-_


End file.
